


And when I die (Hang me high)

by 3Hazels



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 1980s, Alternative Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Soulmates, soulmate markings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 16:59:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15538863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3Hazels/pseuds/3Hazels
Summary: Every day that passed, the hollowness grew. Desperate to find her place in this world she had spent her teenage years travelling from place to place, scavenging to survive, searching every face, tracing every bit of skin. Sometimes, in her darkest hour, she contemplated driving her fist into the ground just to see who’s hand would break with hers.





	And when I die (Hang me high)

Today, for the very first time, she bled.

 

Crimson blossoms mark her vision the second she opens her eyes, face still burrowed into the brushed cotton of her pillow. Her very bones seem to ache as she gingerly raises a hand to prod the throbbing tear above her left eye, flinching as her fingers come away dry but with flakes of red stuck to the tips. Dried blood. Rey hums with displeasure as she lifts herself up on one elbow to inspect the damage to her sheets. Sometime during the night the cut bisecting her eyebrow must have appeared to spill the offending liquid now marring the white of her pillow case - big, ugly maroon stains where her head had lain.

 

She knew the marks had been getting consistently worse over the last few years, growing ever darker and taking ever longer to fade. In fact, her marks had been appearing so regularly now that she feared she may never see her body without the mottled pattern ever again. This, however, this was new. And bad. Very, very bad.

 

With a heavy sigh Rey throws her duvet aside to face the rest of the damage, dreading the possible consequences of this new development. To her horror, the rest of her body did not fair much better than her head. With trembling hands she lifts her threadbare t-shirt to reveal her blackened sternum. Eyes wide, Rey’s gaze drops down the length of her body to the heavy bruises now colouring both her shins. So many bruises. So many unknown injuries. Swallowing thickly, Rey sends a silent prayer of thanks for sparing her the full brunt of the pain, leaving her only with phantom aches that would soon fade with the coming day.

 

_By R’iia, what happened?_

 

When it came to bond marks, Rey realised she was something of an anomaly. All her life her body had been part freckled, part bruised. Like everyone born with a bond, for the first few years of her life the marks had been nothing more than a slight discolouration of skin, an alabaster streak against her sun kissed tan. However, _unlike_ everyone else (that she knew of at least), she did not manage to connect with her bond mate during the whites. Then, at the age of five, her alabaster marks morphed into scorching pink.

 

Maybe, Rey thinks for the thousandth time, the hardships of her orphan life had severed her from her natural path, forcing her away from that magical point at which she was meant to find her mate. She didn’t know, she had no one to ask. And thus, at eleven years of age, the marks turned to yellows and greens, and at sixteen to purple and blues. As far as she could tell, it was rare for bonds to make it to the greens, never mind the blues.

 

Every day that passed, the hollowness grew. Desperate to find her place in this world she had spent her teenage years travelling from place to place, scavenging to survive, searching every face, tracing every bit of skin. Sometimes, in her darkest hour, she contemplated driving her fist into the ground just to see who’s hand would break with hers.

 

_Is that why you’re always hurt? Is this how you’re trying to find me?_

 

With another sigh, Rey cautiously places the palm of her hand against the knobbly protrusions of her ribs, slowly letting the warmth seep deep into her bones. Her heart flutters with the need to soothe a pain that isn’t hers. Her vision blurs and the ache in her chest cinches just a little tighter.

 

_White, pink, yellow, green, purple and then blue._

 

Today, at twenty years of age, her bond burns black.

 

 

 

———

 

 

Hissing through clenched teeth, Ben forces the needle through one last time, flinching as the thread tugs at the torn skin of his left eyebrow. While not his finest work, it certainly stemmed the flow of blood well enough for him to finish cleaning up and apply the bandage. Scowling fiercely, he studies his reflection.

 

The fight had been brutal - just as he wanted it to be - and it showed. From hip to shoulder, the entire left half of his torso was bruised to an ugly, swirling mass of purple and blue. Good. This should give him at least two, maybe even three weeks before the marks will begin to fade. That’s three weeks of searching. Three weeks of hope. He _needs_ hope.

 

It’s been four months since the marks turned black - or at the very least, four months since he’s noticed. Wherever his bond mate is, they are perfectly safe and sound. A fact that is both soothing and frustrating. These days he can go as long as a year without any significant markings showing on his skin, the last of which was a narrow, black streak curling across his left palm. A cut, presumably. If it weren’t for the consistent press of the empty void inside his chest, he could almost forget the bond ever existed. He didn’t want to forget. And he certainly didn’t want _them_ to forget either.

 

_I’m still here. Don’t you dare forget about me, I’m still here._

 

Pushing back from the vanity, Ben turns to grab a fresh set of sweats and a crumpled but clean t-shirt from his old hold-all resting on the bed. Thanks to his slight detour to indulge in some heavy bare knuckle fighting, he now has less than four hours before he needs to hit the road again. Flinching slightly, Ben lowers himself onto the crisp white linen of the hotel bed, hands resting lightly over his stomach. Taking deep breaths, Ben closes his eyes and tries to reign in some of the turmoil. A futile exercise, but he tries none the less.

 

Like always, he imagines an ocean. Steel grey with choppy waves lapping at his feet as he stands on a rocky shore. The wind tussles his hair, making him sway with every gust. There is something out there, something too far away to see but there none the less. He can feel it, hear it, _taste_ it. Salt, iron, smoke.

 

Ben’s eyes snap open as he sits up to grab the map from his bag. Two days east, on the shores of the Atlantic - Takodana.

 

As good a place as any to search for his long lost bond mate.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I have no idea where this is going, but I really felt like trying my hand at something dark and soulmate-y.


End file.
